


Dealings of a Fucked Up Life

by DarkAlpha67



Series: The Fucked Upped- Verse [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dysfunctional Relationship, Emotionally Constipated Derek Hale, Emotionally Constipated Stiles Stilinski, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fighting (Verbally), Foster father Sheriff Stilinski - mentioned, Hints of bad childhood, Inspired by Shameless (US), M/M, Mention of Child Abuse, Mention of John (Stilinski), Mild Fluff, Sheriff Stilinski is Not Stiles Stilinski's Parent, Smoking, Stiles Stilinski Has Scars, Stubborn Stiles, Top Derek Hale/Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Worried Derek Hale, time skip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-26 03:52:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13849512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkAlpha67/pseuds/DarkAlpha67
Summary: Derek and Stiles have been 'together' for two months and somehow... nothing has changed. They're exclusive but that's about as far as their labels went.*One night, Stiles and Derek are together when Derek finds out some shocking news from Stiles that might change their relationship for good.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Right, just wanted to add something else to this verse, and this came to mind.  
> Apologies for any and all mistakes, I have reach through everything but some stuff might have slipped through the cracks
> 
> Warning! PLEASE READ THE TAGS!

Their grunts filled the cluttered room. All around, dirty clothes laid a strewed, theirs among the pile. The bed rocked back and forth, slamming against the walls almost desperately. Stiles shoved his face into his pillow, muffling the sounds of pleasure that slipped from his lips at each of Derek’s precise thrusts into him.

With one hand curled around Stiles’ shoulder and the other securing his hip, Derek controlled when Stiles moved, how Stiles moved. And he fucking loved it.

“Ah, fuck…” Derek grunted, his nails digging into Stiles’ shoulder. He felt the younger man tighten around his throbbing dick, drawing him in the deeper Derek pushed.

“God!” Stiles turned his head, his face contorted with pleasure as he panted for Derek to go faster. “’Fuck is it with the slow pace?” He grunted loudly at the force of Derek’s next thrust. He felt his body arch, felt the heated pressure in his gut, growing and growing and growing. “Oh, shit I’m— _uhn_ ….”

Derek moaned above him, the sound resonating from deep in his chest. Stiles reached back, his fingers grabbing onto a firm muscled ass cheek and he forced Derek forward while he pushed back. Derek’s cock brushed against that sweet point and Stiles groaned aloud.

“Ah, fuck!” Stiles dug his nails into the cheek. “Ah, do that again.”

“What?” Derek asked, panting. “This?” He snapped his hips forward, and Stiles’ head snapped back in utter pleasure, feeling that burst of warmth and all those other fucking feelings that only Derek seemed to be able to bring out explode inside him.

“Yes!” Stiles snapped, his angry drowned out by the loud, filthy moan that followed. “Just shut the fuck up and do me.”

From behind him, Derek smirked, sweat coating his bare chest. He closed his eyes and snapped his hips forward, slamming into Stiles without pause, hitting that sweet spot over and over again. The mattress creaked and the headboard banged against the wall, announcing this fuckin’ moment to anyone who walked into the currently empty house.

Stiles bit down on his lip, bending his head to rest his forehead against his folded arm, holding himself still for Derek to fuck him. His neglected cock throbbed and pulsed between his legs. Stiles’ knuckles turned white as he fists his sheets as to stop himself from reaching down to stroke it, not wanting this moment to end too soon.

His body was on fire as he felt every push and pull of Derek inside him. He knew Derek was close, the frantic snapping of his hips gave that away and Stiles sighed with relief when a strong, large hand finally wrapped around his dick.

Three quick strokes and one flick of a thumb over his leaking slit and Stiles came with a cry muffled into his pillow. Derek grunted and moaned as he chased his own orgasm. Stiles pushed back into him with the last of his strength and Derek came.

“Holy fuck…” Stiles sighed, dropping down the moment Derek pulled out, rolling weakly onto his back to get away from the mess on the sheets.

His bed squeaked and Derek slopped down beside him, his glistening chest heaving, droplets of sweat clinging to the hair on his pecs. Stiles closed his eyes, basking in the numb feeling of being thoroughly fucked into oblivion. A smile formed on his lips without meaning to. After a few passing moments of blissful silence, Stiles grunted lowly as he rolled over to face his side table.

He reached for his pack, pulling out two smokes while Derek took care of the condom, dropping it into the waste bin on the other side.

“Here.” Stiles said, offering Derek the cigarette. He snatched up the lighter, dropping it on Derek chest while he leaned back down onto his bed, feeling the sweat cooling on his legs and torso, the lingering pain in his ass a happy reminder of the pounding it just got.

Derek lit up his smoke first and Stiles repeated the action, inhaling deeply. He felt his bed shift as Derek moved back, leaning up against the headboard. He looked over to Stiles as the younger man sucked on his smoke, staring blankly at a poster from Sin City of Jessica Alba in a black bikini top, hips thrusted out, clad in a black leather pants.

“Happy Birthday.” Derek said to him, placing the smoke between his lips so he wouldn’t have to say more.

Stiles just hummed, his mind slowly drifting from his bedroom to next month. His stomach flipped at the reminder and what it could mean for him and the man currently laying on his bed. Stiles took another drag, wishing it was weed—

“Hey, you got weed on you?” He asked, turning to look at Derek.

The older man’s eyebrows pulled together and he gave him a look. “No, I thought you were gonna have some.”

“Nah man,” Stiles shook his head. “I smoked all my shit with Scott yesterday.”

Derek chuckled, pulling the cigarette from his lips, leaving it to dangle between his fingers. Bringing his leg up to rest his arm on his knee, Derek turned to run his eyes over Stiles’ pale mole dotted body, stretched out naked without a fuckin’ care in the world.

“You gonna put on some clothes?” Derek asked for the sake of asking something so they weren’t sitting in silence like two awkward one night stands.

“It’s my fuckin’ house, man.” Stiles retorted. “And it’s my birthday.”

“Your birthday was yesterday.” Derek reminded him.

“Fuck off.”

Derek snorted, shaking his head as he took another pull of his cigarette.

For two months they’ve been fucking. Two months of hiding and sneaking around, screwing each other whenever it was convenient. It wasn’t what Stiles had in mind when he asked Derek to meet up with him that night in hopes of getting him to agree to be with Stiles but when all was said and done, Stiles found himself falling back into old habits with Derek.

They got high to be able to have a proper conversation.

They fucked when they felt like it and pretended nothing was going on when Stiles was over at the Hale’s with Scott.

He didn’t know how to be in a fuckin’ relationship, even if he ran his mouth that night, going on like he knew what he wanted, when, in this fucked up reality, he didn’t.

“I gotta leave in like two hours.” Derek’s deep voice broke the silence as he rolled over Stiles to stub out his cigarette, his naked body brushing against Stiles’. The younger man followed his movements with hungry eyes, taking in the stubble covered jaw that had scratched against his thighs and neck, the mouth that was taken his cock without difficulty.

Stiles stared into the pale- almost light grey-shade of green in Derek’s eyes, tracing the way his nose sloped downward instead of up like most of his siblings. Stiles had never met Talia, and he didn’t plan on doing that any time soon, but some nights when he had the time to look at Derek, to wonder about him in a way he was never truly allowed to before, he discovered this need to know who Derek took after more.

With parents like Rafe and Talia, two people who didn’t give a shit about their kids, the amount of love the siblings had for each other clearly weren’t something they were taught through experience.

Derek loved his brothers and sisters, it was something everyone in South Side knew. The night Scott found out he was related to the Hale’s, Stiles had been there to hear all the stories about the large and dysfunctional family, he only ever heard about from strangers in their neighbourhood. Scott told him about the kind yet loudly welcoming Laura Hale who had joked about Scott’s life having truly fucked up now that he knew he was one of them, and Derek who refused to talk to him and treated him like just another neighbourhood kid he’d been forced to look after.

He’d seen the Hale’s around and with Isaac being the one who looked nothing like them, Derek looked to be a hybrid blend of the two sister’s (and cousin) who screamed ‘Hale’ with their dark hair and Spanish features.

“You up for round three?” Derek asked him, placing his arm on one side of Stiles’ body.

Stiles lifted his hand, finishing off his smoke with one long drag. “Can’t.” He exhaled, purposefully blowing smoke in Derek’s face. “I gotta be awake tonight to study and if we go again I’mma fucking pass out.”

“Study?” Derek repeated, dark brows pulled together in confusion. “What the fuck for?”

Stiles rolled his head to the side to put of his cigarette, placing his hand on Derek’s chest to shove him back, watching as the man fell down onto his side. “School. The fuck else you think?” He grumbled, glancing away.

Derek eyebrows shot up. “School?”

Stiles’ head snapped over and he glared at Derek, clenching his jaw in angered annoyance because, yeah, he knew he didn’t look like the academic type. He knew he was known around the neighbourhood as the little thug whose drug runs ended the moment he got forced to live with a cop.

“Man, fuck you.” Stiles’ angry voice caused Derek to lean back into the bed, away from him. “Don’t you fuckin’ act like you know me.”

Derek gave him a patronising laugh. “Right because you’re an open fucking book, right?”

Stiles bit down on his lips, saying nothing. Looking around for something to do, he found himself looking toward Jessica Alba again, the sinking feeling in his stomach returning. He remembered when he got that fucking poster and why…

He could feel Derek’s eyes on him, waiting for him to say something but all Stiles could do was stare at that goddamn poster, because as much as he hated to admit it, Derek was right.

Stiles had no fucking clue how to voice his thoughts. Yeah, put him in a fight and he would swing without a second’s hesitation, say something insulting and you’ll be walking away with your tongue unable to form a proper sentence and feeling the like world’s dumbest fuck to walk the Earth. But, ask him how he’s feeling and a ‘Fuck You’ was all you’re gonna get.

“Look, I’mma ask you something, and I need you not to be fuckin’ dick, alright?” Derek said, his jaw flexing. He stared at Stiles with hard determined eyes.

“No promises.”

“I’m fucking serious.” Derek snapped at him.

Stiles frowned over, looking about as uncaring as he could. Flicking his tongue over his lips, Stiles raised his eyebrows, waiting for Derek to say whatever the fuck he wanted to.

“Jesus…” The older man sighed, rolling his eyes as he propped himself up on his elbow, his feet hanging off the end of Stiles’ bed. He met Stiles’ eyes with stubbornness alight in his. “You need to tell me what the fuck is going on with you?”

“Nothing.” Stiles rolled his eyes. “Fuck, I snap at you and you automatically---“

“Scott told Laura you’ve been fighting at school. Said you beat a kid up for looking at you wrong.”

“What are you? My fucking father?” Stiles asked, his voice rising and his body shivering uncomfortably. Rolling over, he reached down to snatch up his boxers off the floor, no longer in the mood to be in the bed. Standing up, Stiles tugged them on before making his way to his draw, sure that that there had to be a joint laying around in there.

“He also said you’ve been quiet.” Derek paused. “Look, he’s worried about you.”

Stiles snorted. “Oh, he is, is he? Listen, Scott has a problem me, he can fucking talk to me himself. I don’t need this big brother bullshit from you, alright.” He roughly pulled open his top draw, shoving away all his socks and what little clean underwear he had laying around. John had insisted on buying Stiles new shit when he came to live with him.

It was sweet and all, but at the time, John didn’t get that the last thing Stiles wanted from his new housemate was shit he could live without.

“Then fuckin’ talk to him.” Derek said to him, his tone gruff with an undetectable emotion. “Don’t come to me for a distracted fuck and then act like a bitch when I ask you what’s wrong.”

There was a loud thud as Stiles threw his draw shut, spinning around to glare over at Derek where the older man sat on the end of his bed, now in his boxers too. Green eyes met his, undeterred by the rage in the younger man’s burning stare.

“Fuck you, okay! I said I’m fuckin’ fine. Why you gotta bring up shit when we were having good time?” Stiles yelled at him. His body shifted, muscles tensing up, blood rushing through him as it got ready for a fight Stiles knew was coming. His fists clenched tightly, and his chest heaved as Stiles took in long breaths, forcing himself to calm down.

“Yeah…” Derek looked down at his hand, flicking his eyes up with a humourless smirk forming on his lips. “You are totally fine.”

“Get the fuck outta my house, Derek. If I wanted to talk, I’d go to the fuckin’ therapist.”

Derek remained seated.

Stiles glared at him. “You fuckin’ deaf?”

“Tell me what’s wrong.” He stated, cold and calm like Stiles wasn’t seconds away from physically hauling his ass out. “And drop the fucking tough guy act, you don’t scare me.”

Stiles swallowed thickly, his heart racing. He blinked when he felt the familiar sting in his eyes. Turning around, he exhaled a shaky breath, the caged emotions fighting for release. Subconsciously, his eyes dropped to his body, tracing the healed cuts from torn opened skin, the three circular burns on his inner forearms and the other four he knew marred the left side of his chest.

The bed creaked. His body tensed and Stiles knew Derek was standing behind him.

“My old man is getting out of jail next week.” Stiles forced the words out, tone light and peering over his shoulder with a lifeless smirk plastered on his face.

The colour drained from Derek’s face. “What?”

Stiles nodded, shrugging. “It’s why I gotta study.” Turning around, he leaned back against his draw. “Talked to a teacher and asked if I could write some tests in advance. Get my school work up to date.”

Derek’s jaw snapped shut. Stiles could tell how worried he was, but right now, Derek worrying about him wasn’t gonna help his fucking situation. It’s why he didn’t say anything. Telling Derek was about as meaningless as telling Scott.

They couldn’t do shit to help him.

“What about John…?”

Stiles shook his head, immediately dismissing the idea. “He’s just fostering me. My dad’s gonna get me back, there’s no stopping that.”

“Fuck…” Derek stepped back and dropped down onto the bed. “Fuck.” He said again, shaking his head.

Stiles laughed. “Calm your tits. It’s no big deal.”

“Bullshit!” Derek’s head snapped over to him, his green eyes on fire. “How the fuck can you be so calm about this? He comes back and you know he’s gonna—“ He cut himself off.

“Kill me?” Stiles finished for him, ignoring the way his throat burned at the word. He blinked rapidly, forcing himself not to get all fuckin’ teary eyed about this shit. He already cried over this cluster fuck of a life he had. “Nah, he won’t. It’s be a serious violation of his parole.”

“Stiles…” Derek growled out his name, shaking his head slightly. “Don’t fuckin’ joke about this.”

Hating the look in Derek’s eyes and what it could mean, Stiles exhaled and pushed himself off the draw. He crossed over to the older man, smirking without care as he placed his hands on his shoulders. Ignoring the way Derek’s eyes widened in shock, Stiles moved to straddle him.

“You up for round three?” Stiles asked, leaning in, praying it would do the job and end this fucking conversation.

Hands grabbed his face and eased him away. Stiles felt Derek shift under him, then he was gone, and Stiles was left sitting on the bed.

“Oh fuck, you gonna whine about this shit all night now?” Stiles groaned, keeping up his act. He felt something grow within but his mind revolted against the emotion instantly. “It ain’t a big deal, Derek---“

“Don’t fucking tell me it’s not a big deal, Stiles!” Derek shouted at him, his face turning red with anger. “That motherfucker is gonna kill you if you go back to him. You get that right? What, you think you can write some tests, get your ass thrown in jail again to get away from him, that your brilliant fucking plan?”

“Man, fuck you! I can handle my own shit, okay. If I wanted a knight in shining fuckin’ armour, I would be fucking Blake down at the station, alright?” Stiles rolled his eyes. “I dealt with that piece of shit long before you came around and I can do it again, so if that’s what you planning on, if you planning on saving me, kindly get the fuck out.” He stood up, body trembling with rage as he rounded the bed for his pack of smokes, needing something to calm his nerves.

He lit it up and inhaled deeply, holding in the fumes for a few passing seconds before releasing the smoke through his nose. With his back to Derek, Stiles reached down for his cell phone to check the time to see that they’d spend a half hour talking about this shit.

“Fuck,” Stiles muttered under his breath, placing the smoke between his parted lips.

Derek remained a silent presence behind him, minutes ticking by as Stiles waited for him to start getting dressed, waited to hear the clinking of a belt and the ruffling of clothes, for him to walk out and leave like any right-minded person would do… but nothing.

“The fuck you waiting for?” Stiles bit out, spinning around to glare at Derek, tugging the cig out of his mouth.

Derek’s pale greens flickered over his body. They traced every visible stretch of skin, and had this been another time, had this entire night not been already fucked up, Stiles would have acted on that single one look but now, all he felt was exposed in a way he hated.

He wrapped his lips around his cigarette and sucked in as much smoke as he could, his racing minds slowly calming down, the shake in hands lessening. Suddenly Derek was stalking toward him. The cigarette was plucked from his mouth, the vacant space cold for a heated beat before warm lips captured them.

A groan rumbled in his throat, his eyes falling shut at the touch. His hands instinctively gravitated toward Derek’s hips, skin burning against skin and Stiles tugged him closer. The hair on Derek’s chest tickled against his as the other man stepped forward. Stiles didn’t know what he was doing, and frankly he could give two shits because this was something he could handle. This thing with Derek was something he understood and wanted.

Derek had been right when he said Stiles came to him for a distracted fuck but he wasn’t using Derek as a distraction. Fuck, the only thing that had made these days more bearable was Derek but there was no fucking way he was gonna tell the older man that shit.

Stiles moved, shifting to the right and then flopped down onto the edge of his bed, his lips leaving Derek’s with a wet pop. He refused to look up, fearful of what he might see in Derek’s eyes. Pity or worry, anything right now would just cause him to snap.

Instead Stiles’ eyes traced the hard firm lines of Derek’s stomach, from the perfect six pack, right down to the treasure trail that let to Stiles’ personal version of Magic Land.

Leaning forward, Stiles nipped at Derek’s hip and the other man jumped and groaned lightly at the sting. A large hand tangled through his hair and Stiles repeated the action, lower this time and with a clear intent of where he’ll be putting his mouth.

His fingers curled into Derek’s boxers and without wasting any precious time, he tugged them down, watching Derek’s dick bounce out of the confining clothing, swollen thick and large at attention. Just as Stiles made move to take the flushed cock into his craving mouth, desperate to get another taste, the hand on in his hair vanished, a force pushed at his shoulder and he was shoved back.

“The fuck!” He exclaimed, flopping down onto the bed, eyes widened as they met Derek’s devilish smirk.

Derek’s towering frame leaned forward, the mattress sinking in on either side of Stiles’ waist. His broad shoulder’s dipped in by the juncture at his neck, biceps flexing under tanned skin, straining against Derek’s weight. “You don’t wanna talk, fucking fine. But like I said, I ain’t in the mood to be a distracted fuck for you.” He leaned forward, face inching closer toward his and head bowing down. Stiles watched, dark brown eyes fixed on the spikey mess of raven hair when a light sting erupted on his bottom lip. Stiles hissed, jerking back into the mattress. His tongue swept out, soothing the bite.

Groaning, Stiles lifted himself up on his elbows, cocking an eyebrow at Derek in question. “Then what the fuck we gonna do ‘cause I ain’t talking about this shit with you.”

“Then don’t.” Derek replied, head still bowed as he moved upward, pressing tiny kisses up Stiles stomach and chest, nipping and licking as does so. Stiles forced himself to remain still even though every part of his body wanted nothing more than to flop down and enjoy this for what it was.

Not long green eyes locked with his. Derek returned to his previous position, face inches away from Stiles, body hovering over him and his smirk softer than before.

“You said something about studying?” Derek asked feigning ignorance of his obvious effect on Stiles, cocking his head to the side like a fuckin’ dog.

“What?” Stiles scoffed. “Gonna watch me study like we’re fuckin’ teenagers hooking up on a study date?”

“Fuck you.” Derek quipped lightly, his smirk softening into a humoured grin.

Stiles’ bit back his retort, waiting for more. His chest tightened from withheld breath as Stiles’ uncertain whiskey eyes flickered back and forth, searching Derek’s for the worry he’d seen early, for the pity that would be reason enough to kick Derek out. But all he saw was lightness, an easy humorous glint playing in those pale green orbs and just like that, the weight in his chest vanished and Stiles exhaled with relief.

His lips tugged up into a grin. “So what you wanna do?”

“Me?” Derek asked him, leaning slightly forward, the tip of his nose brushing against Stiles’. “I’m gonna get dressed and head home like planned. You are gonna study for those tests and tomorrow you’re gonna come over to the house because Scott is bring Allison around and I need the company.”

Stiles snorted, rolling his eyes. “The fuck I look like to you?”

“A distraction.” Derek retorted. Stiles opened his mouth, expression incredulous and Derek ducked down, pressing through lips together for a chaste kiss. “I got weed and I’d rather not smoke with two people who put the Notebook to shame.”

Reaching up, Stiles playfully ran his hands over Derek’s arms, stroking the smooth skin until he reached those tight shoulders. His hands curled around Derek’s neck where they remained. “I’m supposed to ignore you knowing about that move?”

“I have four girls in my house. One who thought love was so awesome, that it was reason enough to get knocked up by the first fucker who kissed her.”

“You didn’t have to watch it with them.” Stiles reminded him, just to pull his chain.

Derek scowled down at him. Stiles tightened his grip on Derek’s neck, tugging him down for another kiss. It was heated and hard, sending tingling sensations to rush down to his dick thinking it was gonna be getting off anytime soon. Groaning, Stiles lifted his knee, brushing it against Derek. A smirk curled the corners on his lip when he felt the noticeable hard bulge. He bit back a needy whimper, wondering when Derek had the time to put his boxers back on.

“Shit.” Derek hissed pull back. “You’re a fucking tease, you know that?”

“You’re the asshole who keeps kissing me like you want to fuck me.”

Derek’s brushed their lips together, whispering, “Who said I don’t?”

And then he was gone. The mattress shifted, the kiss of heat from Derek’s body disappeared as he pushed himself up, and leaving Stiles sprawled out, chest heaving and mouth craving. Licking his lips, Stiles shifted onto his elbows, watching with hungry eyes as Derek shuffled around his room, reaching down and plucking up his scattered clothes.

“You need to clean your fuckin’ room. Jesus.” Derek grumbled, bending down and tugging up his pants.

Stiles’ brows furrowed together. “What the fuck for?” He looked around, seeing nothing wrong with his room. Yeah, sure it was messy as fuck but he knew where all his shit was and that’s all that counts. John bitches about his room every fucking week and had it been anyone else, Stiles could gladly told to them go to fuck themselves but it was John, so he packed some shit away and made his room like semi-decent.

Derek just happened to be in here at the wrong time.

The older man scoffed and shook his head as he put on his shirt, giving Stiles the time to take in the way his muscles flexed with each movement, his stomach stretching as he reached up to push his head through the shirt.

Fuck, if he didn’t have to focus on his books right now, that sight alone would have been reason enough to get Derek back into his bed.

Green eyes met his, a smirk forming on his lips. “The fuck you looking at?”

Stiles shot him a toothy grin. “I can’t believe I’m tapping that ass.”

Derek snorted, turning around to sit on Stiles bed. “ _I_ fuck _you,_ remember?”

“For now.” Dark amber eyes trace the bumps of Derek’s spine forming under his skin as he reached down for his boots, shoulder blades dipping in in the centre, right where his weird spiral tribal looking tattoo sat. Scott’s been talking about getting a tattoo himself and even though Melissa would no doubt have his ass for getting one now, Stiles actually thought it was a good idea.

Tattoo’s seemed to be the Hale’s thing, every last on of them had some form of ink on their skin and to Scott, getting one meant he was another step closer to being a part of his new family.

Derek shifted on the bed, head turning to look over his shoulder at Stiles. “You’re a cocky little shit, you know that?”

Stiles hummed with a cheeky smile. “It’s another one of my awesome traits.”

Rolling his eyes, Derek stood up suddenly and then he was before Stiles, hovering over him, face inches away. Stiles chewed on his lip, holding still. He saw the flicker of worry in Derek’s eyes, and prayed that he didn’t fucking ruin this moment by bringing up Stiles’ fucking father.

This thing between him and Derek was good. Fuck, it was _great_ and he really didn’t need his fucked up, piece of South Side trash of father fuckin’ it up. He had a lot of shit to think through before this week ended and the only fucking relief he seemed to get was when Derek was around.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” Derek said to him, his expression smoothing out into a playful one.

“Maybe.” Stiles replied lightly, biting back a smirk when Derek narrowed his eyes at him.

“Okay.” Derek leaned down, pressing a soft kiss against Stiles’ lips. “Do whatever the fuck you want. I ain’t gonna beg.” He muttered, ducking in for one last kiss, only this time, it was harder than before.

Stiles hummed into Derek’s mouth, his left arm buckling under his weight. Ignoring Derek’s muffled protest, Stiles dropped back down onto his mattress, hand grasping the back of Derek’s neck to pull him along.

“Mmhmm…” Derek mumbled, straining to pull his lips away. “Nope, I really gotta go.” He said, pushed back against Stiles’ strong hold.

“Then what the fuck did you kiss me for?” Stiles complained, reluctantly letting him go.

“To say goodbye.” Derek answered, tone incredulous and expression bewildered.

Stiles bit done on his tongue, not sure what to say to that. Derek was weird as hell sometimes and it often made Stiles fuckin’ dizzy just trying to keep up with him. One seconds, they acted like ‘Stiles and Derek’, swearing and fucking around with each other and the next Derek was being all sweet and understanding.

He didn’t know what the fuck to do with that.

Silently, he watched Derek gather up his shit and head for his door. Opening it, Derek paused at the door frame, and looked over his shoulder, eyebrows lifted.

“What?” Stiles asked. “I’m not walking you to the fuckin’ door, man.”

“Fuck you, Stiles.” Derek shot back, a smile growing on his face, revealing those bunny teeth that Stiles was forever mocking him about. It was fucking cute, that man a that looked like Derek had this one defining feature that changed his entire face when he smile.

Spinning around, Stiles watched on with a smirk of his own as Derek Hale tossed him the finger over his shoulder, disappearing around the corner, his boots thudding down the hallway.

Minutes later Stiles heard his front door open and slam shut. And then it was quiet. The silence of his now empty house closed in around him, and Stiles let out a shaky breath, clenching his jaw in anger and frustration when he felt the burning sensation return in his eyes.

He felt that childhood fear bit into him, enclosing around his chest, the tightness building and building until he swore he could feel his father’s fist beating down on him, relentless and unforgiving. Markus Stilinski wanted his son to know that he hated him. Fuck, his disgusted expression whenever he caught a glimpse of his kid made that pretty fuckin’ clear to a six year old Stiles.

He knew shit was gonna go down the second he returned to his father’s care. He’d been mentally preparing himself for the shit he’d have to do just to please his old man and lessen the number of beats he’ll no doubt get for simple breathing…

The buzzing sound of his cell was like a thundering clasp in the deadly soundless room. Stiles, grunting, rolled himself over and reaching down for his discarded pair of jeans, digging through the pockets for the vibrating phone.

Flipping it open, his eyes traced the texts and his stomach tightened.

 

_ >[23: 45 PM] Derek: My offer stands. Anytime and any day._

 

Swallowing, Stiles’ fingers moved.

 

**< [23:46 PM] Won’t need it. See ya’ tomorrow, man.**

 

And fuck, if that wasn’t the biggest fucking lie Stiles had ever told Derek Hale.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Markus Fucking Stilinski

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, THANK YOU ALL SO SO MUCH FOR THOSE LOVELY COMMENTS. YOU GUY SERIOUSLY MADE MY DAY, I COULDN'T STOP SMILING WHENEVER I SAW A NEW ONE. You guys are the best <3 <3, Thank you for all the encouragements because I have been struggling with the fic, mostly because I have never written Sterek like this, all South Side like and your amazing words makes me feel like I'm not shitting on both Shameless and Teen Wolf.
> 
>  
> 
> So I actually got to work on this right after the first chapter, but I haven't felt comfortable posting it cause it didn't feel right.
> 
> Thought about making it a part 3 of the series but thought it would be best to put it with this. I don't think I'll continue and make this a multi-chapter fic but I will be continuing this series.

Stiles closed his eyes at the feeling of the cold wind biting against his skin. The cigarette dangling from his lips was more ash that nicotine, his throat felt raw from withheld emotions, his eyes dried up, unable to form tears.

Jesus fuck, he barely had the strength to fucking react to shit anymore. Last night had brought something out in him and Stiles was sure that was only because it was Derek going after him and not some fucker who Stiles wouldn’t have hesitated to beat the shit out of just to get them to shut up.

The loud, creaking sound of the front door opening pulled Stiles back the present, to the house he’d been calling his home. He heard the familiar grunting and groaning and pulled the smoke from his lips, pinching the end to snuff it out before tossing the nib out the back door.

Turning around, Stiles headed to the fridge to get two beers. The cool air erupted goose bumps along with the length of his bare arms, his thin white tank top doing nothing to protect him from the soft breeze that blew in from the open back door.

He’d close it later when he was sure the house won’t smell like smoke later on.

“Hey, kid.”

Stiles turned around, a barely-detectable smile forming on his face. He took in John’s tired eyes, heavy expression and dropped posture. He didn’t know what might have happened today at work for the cop, and he wasn’t about to ask, but with John manning South Side mostly, Stiles could only image the kind of shit he’d seen today alone.

“Ah,” John sighed when Stiles stretched out an arm, offering him a beer. “Just what I needed.”

The chair in the small eating area scraped back and John dropped down, running a heavy hand over his face. Stiles silently leaned back against the kitchen sink, twisting his beer bottle open and taking a large gulp. John barely blinked an eye and for good reason. When Stiles first got here, he’d made it perfectly clear he was gonna do whatever the fuck he liked and if John didn’t like it, he was more than welcomed to send Stiles’ white trash ass back to juvie.

Fucking hell Stiles drank and smoked as much as he could, doing it all where the detective could see. It carried on like that for two weeks with nothing more than a disapproving eye before John told him he was free to smoke outside, just not in the house. When Stiles ignored him, John sighed and dropped the subject only to bring it up later that night, telling Stiles about his late wife and how she’d died from a lung cancer. He talked about how she was the healthiest person to walk the Earth and that the last thing he wanted was for the home she created to like cigarette smoke.

Stiles never smoked in the house again.

“So,” John started, his ice blue eyes landing on Stiles from across the small room. “Talked to one of my men today about this whole thing with Markus—”

“I told you to let it go.” Stiles cut him off sharply. “Why the fuck you getting involved in shit that ain’t got nothing to do with you?”

John raised his eyebrows, a dark laugh leaving his lips. He took a long sip of his beer, his eyes fixed on Stiles. “Kid, do you know me?”

Something twisted and tightened in the pit of Stiles’ stomach. His fingertips pressed into the icy surface of the bottle, and he felt his entire body tense up in defense. Clenching his jaw, he glared at John. Fuck, he hated the man, because no matter how hard he fucking tried to he couldn’t hate him.

It made Stiles fucking sick that someone who had no right to give a shit about him cared more than his own fucking blood.

What the fuck does that say about him? His mother didn’t give a flying fuck whether he lived or died, his father took up the challenge to see just how much life Stiles had in him. And then there was this asshole sitting in front of him, eyes all fucking soft and caring about what happens to him.

“I don’t need your help.” Stiles forced out, the words burning his throat. “You can stop with the fucking Mother Theresa act. My shit is already packed up and in a few days I’ll be out of your hair.”

John hummed casually, unaffected by Stiles’ biting tone and the hateful glare the younger boy was giving him. “That what you want? To go back.”

“I know where I belong.” Stiles answered, shrugging.

“That’s not an answer, kid.”

Stiles grunted, looking away from John, over to the pot of food. “I made spaghetti. Eat it or don’t, I don’t give a shit. I’m gonna get some sleep.”

He drained every last drop of beer, the bitter liquid a cool collision with the burning anger simpering in the pit of his stomach. He dropped the empty bottle into the bin on his way out of the kitchen.

“Stiles.”

Stiles stopped, turning over to look over his shoulder, expression annoyed. “What? You got more bullshit promises to dish out?”

John frowned, his carefully crafted neutral expression shifting into something that resembled concern. Stiles curled his hands into tight fists, flexing his jaw. “I told you I’m gonna be looking out for you, just ‘cause you don’t live here, doesn’t mean that’s gonna change, son.”

Stiles’ hardened his eyes. “I ain’t your fucking son.” He spun back around, his eyes zoning in on his bedroom door. His hands twitched for the doorknob and the second Stiles heard the door slam shut behind him, he physically felt his mask crumbling.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Stiles let out a shaky breath, fighting the urge to give in. He shook his head, gritting his teeth painfully together, holding in his rage and pain. He wasn’t John’s fucking problem, why the fuck did the man keep trying to fucking change that.

He knew what would happen to John if he fought Markus for Stiles. There was no fucking chance Markus Stilinski was gonna let Stiles slip through his fingers, not with all the shit he could gain from having Stiles back with him. Markus needed the backup for his runs, he needed all the contacts Stiles had made while he was in the joint.

Fuck, he’d put a bullet in Stiles’ head before he let some cop fuck up his business, doing anything to get the heat off him even it meant killing his own son.

John was only making things worse by pushing this…

 

*

 

_I’m gonna look out for you…_

 

Those words were like a fucking torture device implanted into his head. John’s voice echoed over and over as Stiles looked around his old room, the thinned out mattress, old and worn out from years of usage, shit scattered around, no doubt from the cops searching this fucking dump he called used to call home.

Stiles had arrived here this morning after saying good bye to the cop who’d taken him in. He met up with Scott right after with a duffle bag stuffed with all the clothes he’d had when he first got shacked up with John.

And that he was back in this fucked four walled hell, he felt nauseous, like he was moment away from fucking throwing up. His body was in fucking paining from the tension, every step he took had him wincing, but he pushed through it, forcing himself to walk toward the fucking house when all he wanted to do was run as far away from this place as he could.

His room reeked of food gone old, the floorboards creaking as he wondered around and silently got to work cleaning up all his shit. He found the old, molded sandwich laying under his bed, all the beer bottles tossed around and empty cans with bullets holes in them.

The house was empty, his father having fucked off with a grunt of having shit to do. The moment the door closed behind him, Stiles’ cool collected mask had dropped and he let that that old, scared kid he’d always been come back for just that second. He felt like fucking pussy, cowering back every time his father so much as breathed in his direction.

Scott had offered him his house but Stiles knew better than to take him up on it. He couldn’t bring his father into Melissa’s life, fuck, if Markus even found out Scott existed...

Friends meant more people to do his dirty work and there was no fucking way Scott was getting involved with Stiles’ fucked up family. _No fucking way_.

He’d just finished dumping the black plastic bags into the bin outside when he heard his front door slam open and shut.

“Stiles! The fuck are you?”

Gritting his teeth together, Stiles turned, jogging up the back porch steps. He felt his walls come up, and he forced every fucking feeling his bastard of a father could use against him far away. With a closed off expression, he entered his house, mouth opening to call out to his father when the words died in his throat as his eyes fell on a girl standing before Markus.

Her dark brown eyes met his, a huge grin splitting across flawless face, free of any and all bruises.

“Sasha?” Stiles asked, shock evident his tone her, nickname bringing back a flash of memories. He tried to add more, fuck he tried moving but he was frozen in place.

His mind raced ahead, stomach churning with the urge to puke when he caught Markus’s smug smirk. Fuck, what the hell was she doing here? Why the fuck would she come back?

But, even as those questions rushed through his cold mind, Stiles knew all the answers and by the way Sasha inched away from Markus, she knew too. Her hair, sleeked straight, was chopped off, reaching her chin with a sharp edges, red colored streaks scattered in at random. She sported her worn out black leather jacket, dark blue tight vest and ripped black jeans. He would have scoffed at the new look if he wasn’t fucking terrified out of his mind.

“No hug for your baby sis?” Sasha’s excited voice broke through the iced silence.

Stiles wasted no fucking time, stalking over, closing the distance between himself and his sister in three quick strides. She met him halfway, flinging her arms around his neck, her grip so fucking tight he could barely breathe.

“Fuck, I missed you.” She said into his neck, tucking her face into the juncture but Stiles couldn’t reply.

He met Markus’ cold dark eyes, saw the whole fucking sick thing for what it really was, because his father was a sadistic fucker who knew what strings to pull to get someone in line. Everything inside Stiles was screaming at him to get Sasha the fuck away from their father, take her John or Scott or fucking hell, Derek even.

His mind flashed back to the last time he’d seen Sasha, her face so swollen he barely recognized her. He remembered the way she shook in his arms, biting her busted lip to stop her silent sobs after their father blacked out once again, leaving his children broken and alone.

“Nikki is gonna be staying with us from now on.” Markus said to Stiles, eyes burning into his, making the unsaid message loud and fucking clear. “That ain’t gonna be a problem, right?”

Stiles swallowed and forced out laugh. “You fucking kidding?” He pulled back from the hug but kept Sasha close to his side. “I missed this bitch.” She wrapped her arm around his waist, her nails biting into his side.

Markus smirked. “Good. I’m glad to have my kids back home.” He set his eyes on Sasha. “Hopefully your cunt of a mother stays the fuck away this time, am I right?”

His sister laughed, her smile stretched out across her face. “Fucking hope so.”

It took everything in him not to murder Markus in that instant because this wasn’t about Sasha being here, this got fuck all to with her, period. This was about Stiles and keeping him in line. Markus knew that with Sasha around, Stiles would do fucking anything he was asked without a word of complaint. After all, the last time Stiles went against his order, Sasha ended up in his bed, passed out with blood covering every inch of her beaten face.

She’d been six…

Stiles turned his head and Sasha met his stare, her eyes flickering in that secretive moment and he saw what lurked beneath the hard Stilinski mask. It was a look he knew all too fucking well.

His tightened his hold on her and turned to look at their father. “Want a beer?”

“Shit, I could definitely use one.” Sasha complained beside him. “Car ride was way too fucking long.” She added, playing along.

And that’s what they did. They put on a smile and pretended like they loved everything fucking second with Markus, laughing and joking as they made him food when in reality both of them knew the shit they’d have to go through later on when the whole novelty of ‘having the family back together’ wore off for Markus.

 

*

 

It was hours later, Markus’ loud snores filling the house, when Stiles heard his door open.

He glanced over the text from Derek asking him to meet up tomorrow before he shut his phone off, dropping it down beside him to turn his attention on Sasha as she walked over to his bed, falling down on her stomach.

“Thought the piece of shit was never gonna fall asleep.” She said to him, her dark brown eyes light but her smile strained. “If I have to hear him call me Nikki one more fucking time I’mma gut him.”

Stiles snorted. “I’ll get the fucking shovel.” He joked with her.

Sasha chuckled, resting her head down on her upturned hand. Stiles watched as the smile fell and her face turned sour, eyes dulling out… and he fucking hated it.

He hated the shit this place did to her.

“The fuck is with the red?” He asked, tossing a pointed finger toward her head, in hopes to distract her for a bit longer. “Thought you said you’d kill anyone who tried cutting your hair.”

Sasha ducked her head down, her straight strands falling over her face as she tried to get a look at her own hair. “Fucking had to.” Dark brown eyes met his. “Assholes kept confusing me for Nikole. Didn’t fucking help that I was named after the bitch, so I cut my hair and put in some color for good measure.”

Anger struck him and Stiles clenched his jaw, eyes narrowing. “They touch you?”

Sasha scoff. “The fuck you think?” She rolled her eyes when she caught the look on his face. “Chill. Kneed the fucker before he could get his hand under my shirt.”

Stiles gritted his teeth together, knowing better than to comment on this shit. He wanted to ask for a name and fucking description so he could cut the piece of shit’s dick off. But he didn’t. Shit, the last thing Sasha wanted was to feel like she needed Stiles to take care of her.

She knew he’d do anything for her, and that was enough for her.

“I missed you.” Sasha uttered after a while, her eyes dropping down to Stiles’ dirty comforter. “Felt fucking alone in that house with her and when Markus came.” She stopped. “I know you don’t want me here, 'cause I fucking make it worse for you but I—“

“Shut the fuck up, Sasha.” Stiles cut her off. “You know it ain’t like that. Fuck, if I could have you here all the time I would but that asshole is gonna fuck you up sooner or later. I’d rather not watch my sister get beaten up, thanks.” He bit out.

He knew he was being cruel, fucking hell it broke him when he saw Sasha wince at him words but she knew he wasn’t lying.

Turning his head, Stiles moved his eyes up to the stained ceiling, to the dull bulb dangling from it, watching as it swayed from side to side. The silence dragged on, with Sasha lost in her own head and Stiles not knowing what the fuck to say to make her feel better. He let his mind drift back to Derek, wondering for a second if he could maybe sneak him and Sasha out to the Hale’s but he squashed that fucking idea right then and there.

Derek was bad news. He had no idea what the fuck he was gonna do about the two of them. No fucking way was he gonna be able to hang around the older man now that Markus was back and with Sasha around…

She didn’t know about him and he’d rather not have that hanging over her head too if Markus ever got wind that his son liked cock.

“So…” His sister’s husky voice pulled him back. “Anything new and interesting happen while I was gone?”

If only she fucking knew…

Stiles hummed, lifting an arm up and tucking it under his head. “Remember Scott?”

“That puppy-eyed shit head who kept trying to kiss my cheek?”

Stiles snorted at that. Fuck, he forgot how Scott was around his sister. The blushing fucker had had this massive pre-school boner for Sasha and had he not been Stiles’ friend, he’d be dead for trying to pull that shit.

“Yeah. He found out he’s a Hale. You know the Hale’s right? Big ass family who lived around the block?”

Sasha gaped at him for a second. “No fucking shit? Really?”

“Swear on my life. Found out a couple months ago.” Stiles told her, laughing lightly when Sasha’s eyes widened even further. “Hey, we all knew Rafe’s dick got around.”

“Holy shit. Good for him, I guess.” Sasha’s dark brows pulled together. “The douchebag always wanted a big fucking family and now he’s got those genetically blessed shitheads.”

“’Genetically blessed’?” Stiles repeated.

“Fuck you, I remembered how hot they all are? Fucking unfair.”

Stiles nodded, not denying it because, shit, all those Hale’s were a bunch of good lucking fucks. Derek looked like he walked off the front cover of every girls masturbation dream and that was when he wasn’t even trying. Dude worked out so often, Stiles had felt those muscles shift under his hand every time he and Derek got down and dirty.

“You gonna sleep here tonight?” Stiles asked after a while, his voice straining to be heard. He felt his eyes burn and every time he blinked, it took longer to reopen them.

Sasha shifted on his bed. “You don’t mind?”

Fuck no, he didn’t mind. He knew the moment she walked in that she didn’t want to sleep alone in this house. It’s always been like that and Stiles wasn’t about to change shit now that they were a bit older. He had no idea what the fuck Markus would be like tomorrow and he’d rather have her close by in case shit went down.

“Do whatever the fuck you want.” Stiles grunted out, rolling on to his side, his back to her. “You better put off the fucking light though.”

His mattress sunk in and then lifted as Sasha got off. Seconds later, his whole room was blacked out.

“You need to wash your fucking covers, for fuck’s sake.” Sasha complained as she climbed back on and instantly Stiles felt her press her back right up against his.

“Fuck you, bitch.” He shot back, and even he could hear it was weak.

“Good night, you dipshit.”

Barely a minute later and he heard her breathing even out. Something vibrated against his stomach and his cell lit up. Pausing, Stiles listened in on Sasha, making dead sure she was passed out before he picked up his cell.

 

_ >[1:00AM] Derek: Yes or no?_

 

Stiles swallowed, his heart reacting to the text like he was some fucking teenage girl.

 

** <[1:01AM]: Can’t man. Got shit to deal with. **

 

A second later, his cell vibrated again.

 

_> [1:01AM] Derek : You okay?_

 

Stiles rolled his eyes and blamed the way he stomach flipped from the zero sleep he got last night.

 

**< [1:01AM]: I’m fuckin’ fine. Quit worrying.**

 

For a long while, he got nothing back. He was just about to fall asleep when his cell shook in his hand and his eyes snapped open, eager to read the reply.

 

_> [1:06AM] Derek: Call me if you need me._

 

Stiles blinked and swallowed down the lump in his throat. He wanted to scoffed, fucking call Derek right then and there to tell him to quit being a fucking worrying bitch. Shit, he wanted to be pissed off just to prove to Derek, and maybe himself, that the idea that someone out there, someone who wasn’t his blood, actually gave a shit about him didn’t make him feel fucking weird.

He hated the hope it ignited in him. Fucking, hated the way he latched onto that feeling when he fucking knew better.

Exhaling, Stiles replied.

 

**< [1:07AM] Okay. Now fuck off, I wanna sleep.**

 

He didn’t have to wait long for a response and Stiles had to bite his lip to keep his chuckle in.

 

_> [1:07AM] Derek: Yeah, yeah. Good night, you fucker. Sweet dreams. _

 

Stiles shot a quick reply and then turned his cell off, needing to save the battery in cased he needed it for whatever shit he had to do for Markus tomorrow.

 

**< [1:07AM] Sappy shithead. You too.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I wrote Sasha, I pictured Nina Dobrev. No idea why, but she won't get out of my head when I started writing Sasha and it stuck. If she isn't how you guys pictured Sasha, no worries and ignore this part. I just felt like I didn't describe Sasha that well, and thought I'd give you all an idea of what I had in mind.

**Author's Note:**

> P.S. anyone wishes to see something happen in this verse, let me known and I'll try and write something as soon a possible. <3


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